Payback
by Maiden of the Moon
Summary: Payback is a b***h. But Sebastian will make Ciel HIS b***h. Er, that is, make PAYBACK his b***h. Yeah, that's right... SebastianxCiel.


**Disclaimer: **Hasn't been mine before. No reason for it to start being mine now.

**Author's Note: **Just a bit of crackish SebastianxCiel pre-smut as inspired by my conversations with Noveltynovel-san and my dear friend Lessa. :3

**Dedication: **In the wake of _Tis Pity,_ I'm terrified of dedicating anything to Noveltynovel-san, because he's so much better at this than I am… but this is for him, nonetheless. As well as my lovely Lessa, of course. XD

**XXX**

**Payback**

**XXX**

Sebastian was starting to think he'd been having too much sex, as of late.

An unexpected musing, to be sure. Shocking, even: in over a millennia of life, never once had such a notion crossed his mind. Nor had he ever expected to find himself legitimately contemplating that sort of blasphemous thought; he was, after all, a demon—lust and depravity and all forms of perverseness were his metaphorical bread and butter. At least until his Young Master's soul had ripened, anyway. And he had never before minded "eating" Ciel in a number of other, less socially-appropriate ways while he waited for that far-off day to arrive.

But now he was beginning to see problems with that arrangement, and problems were things that needed to be remedied. For as much fun as it was to christen every corner of the expansive Phantomhive Mansion with their… shenanigans… such activities left lingering marks upon one's memory that were far harder to remove than the bodily fluids that stained the carpet. And the pool table. And the whole of the linen closet.

It was highly problematic, even for a butler of his caliber, that he couldn't so much as dust the library bookshelves without his pants growing a bit tighter. (Mmm, that particular romp had been _particularly_ enjoyable…)

Then there was his master himself: confident, intelligent, and fully prepared to exploit his growing skills in the art of sexual passion if it meant getting himself out of a violin lesson. Which it did. Increasingly more often. Much to Sebastian growing chagrin. Yes, all things considered, Ciel's enabling certainly played a large part in the issue.

Well, maybe not "large" quite yet, but in his defense he was still just a chil—

Oh dear.

With some effort, the demon physically forced that train of thought off of its all-too-eager tracks, his pretty face warped by an irritated frown and a pale, furrowed brow. If he couldn't even innocently _monologue_ to himself anymore, then the situation had progressed much farther than originally feared.

Of course, perhaps it wasn't entirely his fault, in this case; Sebastian _was_ entertaining these thoughts while watching a rather provocative show. Though, if he was to be completely honest (which was something he tried very hard to avoid at all times, but it had been known to happen, once in a while) this only further proved his point. Why else would he find the task of watching his Young Master eat breakfast as enthralling as some prostitute's striptease? The way the boy would carefully smooth his napkin over his lap, fingers fluttering teasingly across his own tempting thighs; the dance of his tongue as it trailed slowly up the dull edge of his knife, lapping at a drizzle of syrup; the rhythmic in, out, in, out of the long, hard fork, the tines occasionally teasing the lower lip of that hot, velvety orifice…

"I'm actually hungry today," Ciel announced suddenly, effectively cutting through the lusty haze of his butler's mind. "So I'm going to pretend that's your finger jabbing me in the back."

Sebastian blinked once, slightly startled. He glanced briefly downward; dammit, and the dining room was one of the few places he thought he'd be safe.

Then again… if the damage had already been done…

"I apologize, Young Master," the demon pronounced briskly, making a show of checking the time. He noted—with some satisfaction—how his contractor's spine suddenly stiffened at the crisp clicking sound of his pocket watch; he had long-since been trained to know what _that_ was the prelude to... "But we are already off schedule. You'll have to wait until lunch."

"_What_?" The thirteen-year-old glowered, piercing his butler with an irritated glare as he went about removing dishes and cutlery and cups of good china. With much undue vigor, it should be added. "I just got here five minutes ago!"

Sebastian offered the boy an agreeable smile, reaching down to remove that napkin. He was sure to let his fingers linger just-slightly-too-long over a certain piece of anatomy— one that now reminded him of a knife. Or maybe that fork… "Be that as it may, we have a full schedule today."

A single blue eye flit briefly downward, its attention caught by the hand that had slipped between his thighs; his face darkened with irritation, even as his cheeks flushed pink. "Liar," he snapped, shooting his servant a second bitter stare. "Let me finish my tea, first."

But Sebastian had begun shaking his head before the question was even full-formed. "No," he decreed, puncturing this proclamation with the removal of his master's napkin. To be especially annoying, he made sure to do it with an ironic flourish, as if unveiling some grand piece of artwork… a miniature tribute to the Leaning Tower of Piza, perhaps. "I'm afraid we can't waste the day away waiting for you to be finished."

Ciel's expression—unlike the rest of him— fell flat.

"I don't think it's that 'we' can't wait," he droned, even as his once-pallid face gained more and more flustered rose-tints. "I think it's that _you_ can't wait. Or simply that you don't want to."

"Touché." Sebastian smirked, removing his hands from the little count's lap and instead placing them under his skinny arms, using the leverage to lift, turn, and seat Ciel upon the table. "But you're the one who put me in charge of the schedule, Young Master," he reminded pleasantly, positioning himself between grudgingly-open, but all-too-willing legs. "Both in terms of keeping it, _and_ making it."

He leaned forward, and his master leaned back, and two sets of hands tangled in the already-messy—but soon to be messier—tablecloth.

"And I say now."

So now it was.

But hmmm, that sounded demanding, didn't it? Again, not an unusual observation, given Sebastian's true nature. Yet, this abrupt realization unexpectedly provided the answer as to the root of his growing (and yes, it was certainly _growing_) problem: for if it had truly reached the point that he could _demand _to fuck his Young Master atop the breakfast table, then _well_… no wonder he was having so much sex. Everywhere. Resulting in an inability to look inoffensively upon such mundane items as bookends and folded laundry.

He'd asked for it. (…no pun intended.)

But it was only fair, really, the demon reasoned, even as he plucked at the boy's pearl buttons, and unlaced the scarlet ribbons he'd just recently finished tying. Only fair— like any other contract or agreement between them: Ciel did something, Sebastian got something in return. Clean, cut, to the point. In that regard, it made perfect sense; the boy had quite visibly done something to him, and now he had to pay for it. More than that, it was preemptive compensation for later, when the young Earl was busy with work and his studies and Sebastian was left to clean, alone with the messes and the memories of how they'd made them…

As if the library hadn't been bad enough. He didn't even want to _think_ about washing that cutlery.

Oh yes, his Young Master was going to pay _dearly_ for this one.

**XXX**


End file.
